Dinner for One (24 page)

“I did,” he says, smiling barely. “Is that being too forward?”

Bastien takes the box from him and steps back, shaking his head. He holds the door open. “No.” He’s so nervous, and he doesn’t want to be. He wants to touch James. His fingers ache with the desire to.

James comes in, and for the first time, he looks awkward in Bastien’s apartment, like he isn’t sure what to do with himself. “It smells good,” he says after a moment. “Bread?”

“I was a bit… nervous,” admits Bastien. “It helped.” He leads him into the kitchen and pulls two plates out, opening the box and dishing out the lemony-flavored fish evenly. He pops one plate in the microwave and turns, propping his hips against the counter. James is standing in his kitchen, hands shoved in the pockets of his jeans, looking stiff and uncomfortable.

“So,” says Bastien. They need to get past this bout of nerves. He has to figure out how.

James looks at him. “Is this where I explain things?”

“I think that would be a good idea,” he says, filled with relief. If they can clear the air, then things can move forward.

James nods, looks around. He motions to one of the stools by the island. “Can I sit?”

“Yeah, just let me move the bread.” He clears the island so they can sit and eat there and moves the bread to the counter.

James waits till they’re both seated, side by side with their plates in front of them, to start talking. “I saw you at the bake sale, and I didn’t know who you were. Honest. I just thought you were cute.” He’s cutting his fish up into meticulously small bites. “So I went over and you were you, all sweet, and you blushed, and your pastries looked good. And then they tasted like perfection. And I was standing there thinking, this guy is so hot, and he can cook, and if that isn’t the best thing ever, I don’t know what is.

“Then you said where you worked, and I realized who you were, and I honestly, I didn’t plan on coming in. But I liked you, and you seemed to like me, and your pastries were so good, so I thought, you know, I needed to go in. I needed to give you a second chance, because surely anyone who could make something that good didn’t deserve a mediocre review. I was thinking that would be that. But you were even better the second time, you were so nervous, and I had you cooking for me, and it was delicious. The meal was fantastic. I didn’t lie in the review.” He looks at Bastien earnestly as he says it, and Bastien nods.

“So I asked you out. I wanted to. And I guess I thought if I waited to tell you, waited until you liked me and knew me, you might overlook what I had done. And I couldn’t let the first review stand when I knew it wasn’t true. I’m not saying that I wasn’t a little disappointed with that first meal, but I realized it was a fluke, and you kept cooking for me, which only made that more obvious. I had to fix it. And when I realized that the food was so good, I thought, how about I wait to tell him till it’s fixed. Till I’ve righted this one other thing.”

He puts his fork and knife down. Stares at his plate. “I’m an idiot.” He looks at Bastien, meets his gaze, green-gray eyes earnest and wide. “I’m a big fucking idiot, and I’m so sorry. I was going to tell you the night you found out. That’s what I wanted to talk to you about.” He looks genuinely upset, angry with himself, lips pulled down in a frown.

Bastien wants to reach out and hold him. But he needs one more thing. “You’re sorry for lying or sorry because I found out?” Bastien needs the clarification, needs to hear it said.

“I’m sorry for lying.” His mouth twists even more, his eyes closing. “I’m sorry it came down to you having to find out instead of me telling you.”

Bastien nods. “Did you cook all these meals yourself?”

“I did.”

Bastien looks down at his plate, puts a forkful of the fish in his mouth and chews. “Not enough lemon,” he says, trying to keep a straight face.

James’s grin is damn near blinding, and his laugh is closer to a delighted giggle than anything else. “Noted,” he says. “I’ll remember that for next time.”

“There’s going to be a next time?”

“Yes,” James says. “If you’ll let me keep cooking for you.”

“I think I can manage that,” says Bastien, smiling uncontrollably.

They finish their meal in comfortable silence, their shoulders now pressed together as they eat. Bastien feels settled in a way he hasn’t since he found out. Despite needing a little more lemon flavoring, the fish is absolutely delicious, and Bastien considers adding the sole meunière to his winter menu.

When they’re done they move to the couch, but they don’t bother turning on the TV. Bastien lies in the V of James’s legs, his back to James’s chest. He tilts his head back on James’s shoulder, mouths at James’s jawline. “I liked the way you apologized,” he says.

“With the food?” James sighs, tilts his head to give Bastien easier access.

Bastien nods, presses a kiss to his neck. “Yes,” he says into his skin. “You said you’re sorry and gave me time. It was very sweet and personal.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” says James, craning his neck down to drop a kiss onto the top of Bastien’s head.

“Do you plan on needing to say you’re sorry a lot?” asks Bastien.

“I’ve got no doubt I’ll fuck up at least a couple more times,” he says, and Bastien likes that honesty. “It’s good to keep track of what works.”

“Starting with the poulet basquaise was a nice touch,” Bastien tells him. He turns around in James’s grip, sits up to straddle him. “Have you ever made French food before?”

“Nope,” says James, popping the
p
. “I’d always considered myself more of an Italian kind of guy.”

“What did you think of my notes?”

James runs his hands up and down Bastien’s sides, fingers tracing his ribs. “I thought they were honest and your way of letting me know what it feels like to be critiqued by someone who matters.” He kisses him nice and slow, like he’s taking him all in. “I put them on my fridge.”

Bastien laughs with delight and kisses his throat, works his way up to his jaw. He’s pleased James got the message, pleased James isn’t mad at how illogical the message is. That first hurtful critique had come when they didn’t know each other and James had just been doing his job. That didn’t mean it hadn’t stung, still didn’t smart just a little. Bastien’s going to have to make him that soup again, correct what was wrong with the original.

“If I do something to upset you, should I shower you with Italian food?”

James laughs, kisses him on the lips, slow and sweet like he’s sipping at him. Bastien squeaks, an undignified sound, when James stands from the couch, Bastien held in his arms. Bastien wraps his legs around James’s waist, sinks a hand into his hair. “What are you doing?” Bastien demands.

“What do you think I’m doing?”

“Showing off.”

That earns him a smirk. “Maybe just a little.” James carries him to the bedroom like that, and Bastien holds on for the ride.

He’s never had make-up sex before. He’s looking forward to finding out if it’s really the best.

Epilogue

THERE’S A
line out the door, and Bastien has James running up and down it with a basket full of cookies as he offers to handle anyone paying with cash. Bon Appe’Treat has been open for a month now—a year and three months after he got Jean to agree—and business is booming. As a concession to Jean’s (and surprisingly James’s) views on a bakery purely for pets, the large open space is split into halves: one with treats for humans, the other with treats for pets.

Bastien was pleasantly surprised James was quite adept with making cookies and has roped him into a part-time baking career. Occasionally he sneaks a cookie for himself and leaves James little notes lying around commenting on them. It never fails to put a smile on James’s face.

He rings up a petite, dark-haired dreadlocked woman who has a basketful of cupcakes and cookies (a mix for her and her dog, who’s sitting quietly at her feet). The golden retriever’s big liquid brown gaze is fixed on him. He leans over the counter while she fiddles with the credit card machine. “Can I pet him?” he asks.

She laughs and says, “Sure.”

This is hands down his favorite part of the job. He suspects Jean is beginning to realize Bastien has found a costly (yet ultimately profitable!) way to play with animals for a living. He grabs a bone-shaped peanut butter minicookie from the bowl beside him and holds it out to the dog. “For being so well behaved,” he tells it seriously.

The dog’s owner is smiling broadly as she signs the machine. “He appreciates it,” she says, reaching down to ruffle his ears. “Do you make cakes?”

He hasn’t made any cakes, but he doesn’t think it’s something he couldn’t do. “I can do a special order,” he says. “Is the cake for you or him?”

“Him,” she says. She shakes his ear. “He’s got his third birthday coming up. But if you could do one for the human guests as well, that would be good too.”

He’s never thought about giving Chloe a birthday cake before. She’s already spoiled, and he keeps bringing her home leftover treats. But maybe just once… it’s a nice gesture. “I can do that,” he tells her. The line behind her isn’t getting any shorter. “Did you want to put the order in now? I can have my colleague take over the till, and we can discuss it.”

The look on James’s face when he stops him from peddling cookies and says he has to go handle the register so Bastien can plan a birthday cake for a dog is priceless. “A birthday cake,” he says. “For a dog.”

Bastien smiles. “Yes.”

“I’ve heard it all.”

Bastien nudges him, darting in to brush a quick kiss over his lips. “I promise I’ll make you an even grander cake for your birthday.”

“We’re not celebrating my birthday this year,” says James. “I refuse to get any older.”

“You’re thirty-five, not fifty. Relax.” Bastien puts a hand to the middle of his back and pushes. “Hurry up. I’ve got a line.”

This dog birthday cake has perfect timing. He can practice his cake-decorating skills, and even his cake-baking ones, on the cake for the dog. He isn’t kidding when he says he wants to go grand for James’s birthday. He’s got ideas. So many of them. Soon Jean and James are going to ban him from Pinterest.

He takes the customer—her name he finds out is Lucy—into his office and notes down what she wants. She’s thinking that a cupcake cake would be good for the dogs, that way each dog can have one. For the human cake, she’d like a cake done to look like Brody—the golden. She shows him examples from, ironically, Pinterest. “I can definitely do this,” he tells her, making note of what flavor she would like and the type of icing preferred.

She leaves, and he spends some time bent over his laptop, doing research for the best way to go about this project. He’s so involved he doesn’t pay attention to time passing until James opens his door and shuts it.

He’s leaning against it, a tiny smile on his face.

“What?” asks Bastien. “Who did you leave in charge of the till?”

“It’s lunch break,” says James, striding closer. They close for an hour at two every day, reopen at three, and then close at five on the weekdays. He comes around the desk and cranes his neck to see what Bastien’s working on. “Not one but two doggy cakes. What is this world coming to?”

“We run a shop based on gourmet treats for pets. I don’t know why you’re surprised.” He tilts his head back, waiting for James to kiss him. He doesn’t have to wait long. The kiss is slow and lingering, lazy. He smiles against James’s lips. “If this goes well, maybe we could add it as a service.” They’ve got the entire upstairs of the building to themselves and aren’t using it. They could add a cake section up top. “We’ll have enough to hire more staff soon.”

James spins his chair around, climbing on and straddling his lap. It nearly sends the chair toppling back, and they both laugh as it wobbles. He frames Bastien’s face. “I love you, but you’re crazy.”

“But I’m right,” says Bastien. “Look how well this worked out.”

James touches their foreheads together. “One day I’m going to tell Jean you talked him into this with fake statistics.”

Bastien gasps. He’d told James that in confidence! “You wouldn’t.”

James’s grin is pure evil.

IT’S WET
heat and firm pressure, a building warmth in his stomach. He tries to stretch into the sensation, to roll his hips up into it, his mouth opening in a sleepy sigh. His hips don’t go anywhere, something pinning them in place. He frowns, confused. Once more he tries to chase the feeling, hips attempting to rise as the suction retreats. Cool air rushes over his bare chest.

His eyelids slit open. He’s only half awake, and he flicks his attention down. Bastien’s teasing blue gaze stares back at him, his eyes sparkling, his plush pink lips spread wide around the tip of James’s cock. His hands are on James’s hips, preventing any movement on his part. As James watches, he pulls off with a popping sound and then sucks him right back in, till the head of his dick bumps the back of his throat. James groans, hand flying down to tangle in Bastien’s sleep-tousled curls.

He’s too tired and too satisfied to form a word, just grunts and groans of encouragement as Bastien sucks him down, tongue smoothing up and down his length. Bastien runs his hands over James’s thighs, over the jut of his hip bones and the dips of his abs, while he takes him in.

James comes on a broken, soft sigh, his hand tensing in Bastien’s hair, his thighs squeezing around Bastien’s shoulders spreading them wide. Bastien swallows, making pleased noises around the sensitive head of his cock. The feeling of those noises has slow aftershocks rocking through James, his back arching, stomach sucking in. He collapses back to the bed when Bastien pulls off of him with a wet pop, smacking his lips and looking
very
smug.

“Come here,” says James, moving his hands to grip Bastien’s shoulders and urge him up. Their mouths meet in a sloppy, lazy kind of kiss. Bastien ruts against his hip, slick cock dragging over his hip bone and leaving a messy trail. James runs his hands over Bastien’s shoulders, scratches his nails lightly down his spine. He keeps his kisses open and slow, his tongue teasingly tangling with Bastien’s as he pants into his mouth.